Requiem
by anja-chan
Summary: “The primary sign of a well-ordered mind is a man's ability to remain in one place and linger in his own company.” - Seneca, Roman philosopher, mid-1st century AD
1. Remains

_Okay, a Note from the Authoress at the beginning. *gasp* But seriously, this is something I almost didn't consider putting up here, probably because I don't have a clue where it's going yet. I just needed to write this. That said, I think this deals with something that relates directly to writing and stories. The truth is what we make of it._

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**Requiem**

Re;mains

**--RE;--**

"_The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret."_

_~Oscar Wilde_

**--RE;--**

He woke.

Everything was darkness, so he opened his eyes. Nothing changed. The ink of his surroundings was complete and a cold silence reigned. He closed his eyes again, and took a breath. The sound of his inhalation was the only thing that reached his ears, loud in the absence of other life.

Absence of... life?

His heart froze, dripping with icy fear. Realization of the recent past hit him like being sucked in by a cold river. The sword pulled out of him again, droplets of his own blood shimmering in the sunlight. He fell again, down towards the small girl he had always loved. She cried, even as he couldn't, even as the blackness covered his vision, flashes of light and memories playing on without his consent or will. He had drifted away, let go of his world, of C.C., of Suzaku, of Nunnally, and... died.

A slow acceptance began to replace the panic. So, he was dead. That was what he expected. It was nothing to worry about. He smothered a forbidding feeling under his acceptance, forcing his body to relax.

Lelouch opened his eyes again, the back of his mind whispering grimly. Nothing stirred. Another breath, loud and echoing. It wasn't complete sensory depravation, just his eyes, he realized. He was lying on his back, arms at his sides.

Blinded in death?

Something wasn't right, he knew, but didn't want to focus on it. His head itched, cold sweat beginning to form on his scalp. He brought a hand to his head, but it hit a barrier above him.

The clunking thunk of his hand against the ceiling jolted him. So low. So... confined. His heart beat faster, running away from him. Wait, his heart? He was dead. It shouldn't... no... the ceiling was too low... this couldn't be....

Carefully, he placed his hand on the wall above him. It was nearly two feet away, cool and perfectly smooth underneath his hand. Stone, maybe marble. He breathed evenly, keeping his panic under firm control. Everywhere above him, the stone was the same uniform height until he met the corner. He gulped in air, and took his hand down before it started to shake badly. There wasn't much room inside his little... box.

He swallowed, his eyes staring blinding out for any glimpse of light, of hope. Nothing showed itself and the stillness and quiet did worse than seem to mock him. It ignored him completely. It didn't matter to anyone that he was still alive. Here, locked away until his slow, suffocating death, he would never see any light, never hear another voice, never touch another person.

Lelouch pounded a fist against the bottom of his tomb. Tears flooded his eyes. Why had he woken to this nightmare? Why wasn't he simply dead as everyone believed? It wasn't that he had wanted to die so much, in fact, he had spent the night before crying in C.C.'s arms. In Suzaku's arms. But once he had accepted that it must happen, that it _would_ happen... he had planned it all so neatly. He felt... cheated. He was supposed to die by Suzaku's hand, not his own godforsaken tomb.

Why? His hands slipped over his sides and to his belly. He poked and prodded, lifting up his shirt, but could only find smooth flesh. No hole. No wound. No blood.

His mind shot around wildly. Had any of it really happened? Was he still Lelouch? Had Suzaku really carried through with Zero Requiem? Was the world beautiful and kind enough for Nunnally? Had he died for that cause and Suzaku's revenge? Or was he crazy? Had he dreamed the whole thing? Was this a dream now?

There was no way to know. There would never be a way, his mind and heart screamed.

"Please..." his voice echoed and he didn't bother hiding the hints of loneliness and fear that laced his words. The close echo magnified his emotions, making the siutation more desparate. "Please... help me."

Tears, hot and salty, rode down his face from the corners of his eyes until they met his hair just above his ear. It was useless. No one would help him. No one could hear him. The stone was far too heavy by itself, and Lelouch didn't even know how thick it was or whether there was six feet of dirt or even more stone above him. Futile.

His sobs echoed and he curled up as best he could, rolling onto his side. He didn't like the sound of his own sorrow, but it was better than the absolute silence. The air was probably so thin already that he wouldn't last long, but it was such a hopeless way to die. He had never wanted to die, and especially not like this.

He didn't know how long he wept. There was no time, and very little space. He began to feel tired, worn. It was too much of an effort to struggle anymore. Maybe the oxygen had finally been depleted. He was losing himself, he could feel it. It was almost soothing. This softly letting go. Death would take him and he would have his release, the end of this absolute darkness and stillness. He exhaled slowly, praying for it to end. His body relaxed with the acceptance of this second fate. Death was his.

He closed his eyes, and let his awareness go.

**--RE;--**

He woke.

He was cold and stiff. Lelouch opened his eyes, searching for a way out. The black enveloped him along with the silence. He didn't dare draw a breath, stretching his eyelids open further.

Still, the darkness seared his eyes.

He let out a shriek of mingled fury, terror, and despair. Hands became fists and beat the walls of his tomb with single minded intent. He howled as a wild animal, scratching and scrabbling at the edges of his prison. He knew the air shouldn't have lasted so long. He twisted and contorted his body to reach every angle, every square inch of his coffin and press his hands or kick his feet against it. Nothing gave. Ages seemed to pass, but whether they were seconds, hours, days, weeks, or years, Lelouch couldn't know. When he stopped, his hands were slick, knuckles split and the ceiling was sticky with blood. A drop landed on his face, and hardened. His hands itched as the blood dried and cracked as his hands stretched. The air was hot and dank with the smell of the salt of his sweat and the iron of his blood. Despair held him quiet and he felt more dead than he had yet. There was no point.

It was then that Lelouch gave up trying to live. There wasn't any life where he was anyway. Instead, he simply existed.

He slept.

**--RE;--**

He woke.

The darkness and quiet haunted him still. He lay awake, his mind blank.

He slept.

**--RE;--**

He woke.

Nothing.

He slept.

**--RE;--**

The cycle continued on for eternity. Then slowly, little by little, he returned to himself. He wasn't sure when exactly it had happened, but he began to think again. He recounted events to himself, his life, the lives of others. He thought of things he would have done differently, but realized it didn't matter now. He couldn't ever escape his prison, so why even bother contemplating a way to change things? It was all in the past anyway.

Sometimes when he woke he considered and doubted that any of it had happened. None of his existence now could coexist with what he remembered. And it all seemed so distant. Had he ever really been outside of his darkness and quiet? Wasn't this all the world that had ever been?

Other times he woke and vividly remembered his life. The texture of Nunnally's hair, the green of Suzaku's eyes, the softness in C.C.'s voice when she laughed. The way Shirley had pursed her lips, how Milly had shouted with glee, Rivalz running across the lawn at Ashford, Kallen's buxom shape in her pilot's suit, the understanding in Sayoko's brown eyes. He often cried, the emotions flooding through him with too much feeling and sensation to his starved senses. He could almost taste the first fish he had cooked with Suzaku and Nunnally and almost smell his mother's garden. Fireworks on the rooftop bloomed before his eyes.

He knew he played with his own memories. He imagined Nunnally reuniting with Suzaku, learning he was Zero and wondering about her beloved brother. Suzaku would tell her the truth, and leave nothing untouched, even the painful memories. Nunnally would be hurt, but she'd accept what they'd done. She'd move forward with the world, joining hands with the Black Knights and the United Nations. He imagined C.C., wandering the world alone, but always missing the boy who had given her the wish she had never asked for. He believed she would put flowers on his tomb as often as she found herself wherever he had been buried. He imagined a future where Milly actually married, and often he had her marry Rivalz, but sometimes it was another man, causing unnecessary drama, but then Rivalz would find someone else. And Kallen had understood his sacrifice for her and went on with her life, falling in love, even having a few kids. She was always a stricter parent than her own had been, but desperately in love with her children and a husband that never left her side. Nunnally usually had found some cure to allow her to walk and run normally, met a handsome and dashing man with a kind heart and gentle nature. He was never a noble in Lelouch's mind, and usually not even Britannian. Nunnally was as happy as she'd ever been and lived life to the fullest, her smile always present, her eyes sparkling with joy. The world adored her as much as he had.

Other times, Lelouch's inner self matched the only surroundings he now knew. The world wasn't as golden as he wished it to be. Even he couldn't imagine a world where he wouldn't have had to fight. The world he had created was likely better than the alternatives, to be sure, or... was it? Had Zero Requiem actually worked? He saw Nunnally assassinated for being his younger sibling, Suzaku-as-Zero unmasked and unceremoniously stripped of everything they had hoped for, yet unable to let himself die. Chased with the world as his pursuers, Suzaku would reach the point where death met him from every corner. The Geass couldn't protect him from his end then, and he died like an animal, cornered, beaten, whipped, and without remorse from the mob that savagely did what they thought best. The world, so close to tipping into a new balance, would tumble backwards. C.C. would flee, crying, and give out Geass to some new accomplice, again in the hopes of death. She would never open her heart to love again. In the wars that followed, Kallen died, and only after her corpse was pulled from the Guren's latest incarnation, did the autopsy reveal she had been pregnant. It only took one more FLEIJA explosion in a civilian area for Nina to commit suicide. Rivalz and Milly had both been caught in the blast. After Nunnally's assassination and Guilford's death against the Black Knight's—probably the same in which Kallen had also perished—Cornelia had become a woman of icy iron and cold steel. She was enslaved by and enslaved Britannia more ruthlessly than their shared father had. Cruelty replaced compassion, war returned where peace had reigned. A million casualties of searching for his own happiness, Lelouch's world wouldn't be the place he wished for. The Geass-wish would have finally let him down.

The possibilities were limitless and yet Lelouch often found himself reliving the same moments of a future he had never glimpsed. Maybe he had reached those limits. Maybe he'd been lying there through his uncountable sleep and wake cycles for more than eternity, and been able to find the amount beyond limitless. Beyond infinity. But then he continued on further and further into his what-ifs and make-believes. Nunnally's children's children grew older. Suzaku finally died. The 15th generation of Knightmare Frames. The disbanding of the Order of the Black Knights. C.C. gave out the Geass, then her Code, and even she too died. Everyone died. The trees shriveled up, flowers ceased to exist, animals became extinct, the mountains flattened, cities sank, the world grew colder, darker... everyone and everything died. Except him.

The Code. He hadn't wanted to put a name to his condition, even knowing how impossible receiving a Code would have been. He didn't remember getting one, for surely he would have wanted to look into gold-honey C.C.'s eyes as he stole her never-ending life. Perhaps the exchange would have meant another kiss, and for a moment, he felt her soft lips against his. She was chaste as white snow, soft as a butterfly, and smiling playfully against his mouth. The sigil disappeared from her forehead, leaving her mortal, human again, but still breathtaking. He loved her strange beauty and her stranger mind. C.C. leaned closer, her hair brushing his neck as she whispered into his ear.

"_Say it like a lover would."_

He closed his eyes, and one eye suddenly stung. A tear? No. His heart ached, but he wasn't weeping. But it was nearly impossible for dirt to get in his eye. Where would it come from? The smooth wall above him never changed, and he hadn't moved at all. He blinked again, a tear forming, trying to flush out whatever contaminated his eye. There was something definitely there, and the more he blinked, the more it floated under his eyelid towards the corner of his eye.

He almost laughed when he figured out what it was. A contact lens. Of course, he hadn't taken them out when he had died. The lens was torn now, irritating the sensitive organ. He laughed aloud this time, the sound echoing inside his little chamber. It wasn't like he needed his eyes anyway. He fished the contact pieces out of his eye anyway, debating whether to pull out the other one.

He often thought about Time. How much had elapsed? How much was left? Would it ever matter?

Eventually he remembered what it had been like to speak. He couldn't remember the last time he had used his voice. He opened his mouth, but no words came out, only a harsh wheezing breath. His throat was dry, and after he wet his lips and swallowed several times, he tried again.

"I am Lelouch," he said to the darkness, his voice creaky and almost loud enough to be painful to his ears. It didn't sound anything like he had remembered.

He practiced for a long time, holding imaginary conversations with his old friends and with people he had never met and could never be sure existed. His words and inflections bounced and reflected off his marble walls. He sang songs, and let the frustration of not knowing the words slide over him without much feeling. He'd never be able to look them up. No sense in thinking of leaving his darkness when he never could.

He pulled out the second contact lens.

Cycles and cycles passed before he realized he had forgotten about his voice again. How many times had he done this now? He'd lost count of that too. There was no sense counting anyway.

He lifted his hand, feeling weak and terribly stiff. He didn't know when he had last moved that particular piece of himself. The appendage rose shakily, and he felt something like dust or paper fall away from his arm. No, there was no way he'd been there long enough to collect dust—that was impossible. And where would that dust come from anyway? Lelouch reached over with his other hand to check, and felt the same papery material tear away and off his other arm. He paused, and gently felt the bottom of his coffin. The grit left behind... those were his clothes. He felt his chest, the fabric there was thin and soft in most places, but a few stiff patches. He traced the spots carefully, taking a moment to remember how he had wiped his bloodied hands on himself after all those times he had believed he could escape.

He probably looked like hell. Lelouch laughed at his own futility, and decided to sing. He could probably increase his range if he practiced enough. He went through a few scales and exercises only to realize it had been a long time since he had last practiced.

It was only after one such time that Lelouch realized he probably spent most of his time completely blank. He thought nothing and felt nothing for long stretches of even more nothing. What was light if he had none? Touch with no stimuli? Time with no way to measure it? Nothing changed in his existence suspended between life and death, so neither did he.

He remembered the sweet taste of tea once. He rolled the memory of flavor around on his tongue. It was hot, but not enough to burn the inside of his mouth, comforting in its familiarity, full and dark in its flavor, but softened by a dash of cream and a teaspoon of sugar. The mixture flooded his memories, remained on his tongue. He set down his teacup. It clattered gently against the saucer and he watched as Nunnally took a sip of her own tea. She didn't exactly slurp, but Lelouch could still hear her drink. Her face showed him everything he needed to know about the tea; she liked it. Her smile spread across her face as she carefully set her own teacup down. It was mostly white, but gentle blue flowers graced the sides, lacing around the curve. The lip was gold-plated, matching the edge of the saucer. Details caved in on him and he was entranced by the hardwood table. It was dark and yet reflected their faces and the teacups upside down and back at them. The room was bright, sunlight spilling through the windows. The curtains were dark green, but drawn aside to let in the sun. He looked carefully outside. The windows weren't perfect, clean, but here and there, Lelouch detected a smudge. For some reason, that aspect delighted him to no end. He had nearly forgotten that the windows would have needed to be cleaned so frequently. If was almost as if some part of Life had reached him, reminding him of how it normally played out.

Sometimes he wondered about the gods. Was his confinement a penalty of using Geass on the collective unconscious of all humanity? To be blocked from the afterlife, living forever in his box, away from the sun and the caresses of the wind? If that were true, Lelouch found himself debating whether he really deserved this denial. Separated from life and death, he was surrounded by loneliness. It was horrifying. Usually. There were still times when he thought he was getting away with so many sins for such a small price. Immortality in a windowless box was nothing he should scorn for the lives he had stolen.

At first, he had tried to prevent himself from thinking about freedom from his prison, knowing only that it would hurt. There was no way he would ever get free, so why would he torture himself wondering about it? But as he traveled through his mind and the multitude of scenarios, he had discovered that it didn't matter. How was imagining his return to a world of light and sound any different from his futures for his friends in which he wasn't a part of? It certainly couldn't be worse than imagining all the various possibilities for Nunnally in which he _wasn't _involved in.

So he had opened another facet of himself up and let his mind explore his own possibilities. Sometimes, it was Suzaku who freed him, and it had only been a day since his interment. At others, an earthquake set him loose to wander a desolate earth devoid of life. He even imagined C.C. coming to get him after all the hatred for him had died down. After his escape, he often was on the run, hiding from the men and women who hated him. It was a dangerous life, but above the ground and he was able to visit those he loved. He also entertained the idea that the world had immediately turned around and recognized his sacrifice. Finding out he hadn't really died may cheapen the experience for some, but the majority rejoiced. That he had been willing to give himself up would be what mattered. And when they asked him to be Emperor again, he would refuse and instead finish high school with the few people he had left. Lastly, he saw himself being raised from the ground and people would see him as some terrifying, undead creature. Who knew? Maybe he really _did_ have a thirst for human blood, but just hadn't found any humans yet. It was just another story to consider, another reality to unravel with his mind.

Because reality was subjective to him. There was no way for him to know whether any of his imagined versions of the future—or would it be history now?—were true or false. He lived entirely through his mind, the extended and logical conclusion of the scenarios he had been making all his life. Chess had been the usual format for his imagination when he had been alive, but now his imaginary chessboard encompassed the whole world. There were no time limits. There was no difference for him between the real and the imaginary. For who was to say whether all or parts of anything had happened? It only mattered whether he wished to _believe­­ _if it had.

In Lelouch's world, only his beliefs were of significance. His beliefs became his knowledge. They became reality based on whether he thought they should be.

He remained bodily caged, but free in his memories and beliefs, hopes and dreams, regrets and guilt. He was a hostage to his past, unable to truly move forward or break free of his endless cycles of how life could have played out or the darkness of his coffined eternity. Yet with his unbridled imagination, he became an explorer of futures. Anything was possible, except his own intervention in it. His eternal rest was peaceful in its solitude and the certainty of a release that would never come.

He woke.

Only Lelouch remained.

He slept.

**--RE;--**

"_There is only one admirable form of the imagination: the imagination that is so intense that it creates a new reality, that it makes things happen."_

_~Sean O'Faolain_

**--RE;--**

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_So, thank you readers, and I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did when I had to write it. I'd like any thoughts and opinions you all have on the concept I'm trying to bring up with this story, my dabbling in how truth is perceived and when one can actually believe something as truth. Reviews are nice, as always, even if you just want to commiserate on Lelouch's condition._


	2. Reject

_Author's Notes: Ahahaha. So, yeah, it's short, but I kind of think that Lelouch's dreams shouldn't be confined to any specific lengths. Some chapters may be long, others short, as long as I get across what needs to be gotten across. Anyway, please leave a review on whether you think this was angsty enough. XD Again, the truth is what we make of it. Is it enough to believe something? Or is it knowledge that is the most important?_

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**Requiem**

Re;ject

**--RE;--**

"_The history of our race, and each individual's experience, are sown thick with evidence that a truth is not hard to kill and that a lie told well is immortal." _

_~Mark Twain_

**--RE;--**

Lelouch's dreams often took a detour through the macabre. Even when he tried to envision the future as a beautiful sunlit expanse of happy memories, his own life experiences intruded. Happiness was often overshadowed by a dark cloud or two. It was, after all, so easy for all his carefully laid plans to go so wrong.

If they had ever happened at all, he mused. Still, at this moment, he believed that he had once been the Emperor of the world. What he felt was his past had actually occurred.

It was what he felt as the future that scared him.

It _could_ happen, something whispered, echoing inside his head and around the coffin. It _could_ be real.

The darkness enclosed him without as his imagination caged him from within.

**--RE;--**

The footsteps echoed, slapping the pavement and rebounding off the brick walls. The man's breath came in gasps, uneven and choked with sobs. He stumbled, clinging to a wall, needing its solid support to continue standing. His blood pounded in his ears and his legs throbbed in time, the muscles finally beginning to tire after the long chase.

It couldn't go on much longer. The end was pursuing him with a single-minded force that would overcome all obstacles.

With the fleeting thought, something deeper than instinct kicked in and he was running again.

He came to himself again in a different ally. He flung himself under an overhang as the helicopter thudded above the wet streets, a single searchlight extending its hunt and throwing strange shadows along the grounds. The sharp squeal of Knightmare wheels echoed down the alley.

His breath came faster. The light passed, scrutinizing rooftops and other dark cross-streets. Some kind of small rodent ran over his foot and he jumped violently, the action making his flight instincts kick in before he had registered what had happened.

It was becoming all too instinctive. He'd been running for so long... if only it would just end....

Another dank slum, filled with the stench of rotting garbage. His senses were his own again, but even the bottom of his feet were sore from the constant pounding on the pavement or strips of hardened gravel. He had never been this tired before. He had never felt this weary. He almost wouldn't mind being capt—he stopped the thought, knowing it would take his consciousness away from himself.

He had to keep running. This curse would only force him into flight or fight, and if there was only one thing worse than the unending escape, it would be to find himself surrounded by the bodies of his pursuers.

He could never stop running.

**--RE;--**

"Suzaku?" Nunnally's voice was as concerned about his well-being as ever over the phone.

"You shouldn't talk to me anymore," he replied back, his voice harsh. He tried not to let Nunnally hear the emotions he was choking back.

Of course, she did anyway. Being blind for long had given her the advantage in hearing things that weren't said.

"I refuse to abandon you, Suzaku. Not now when you need us the most." Her voice was strong and sure of her righteousness.

"Nunnally—"

"You will do as I ask, Suzaku," said the Empress, but then her voice softened, almost pleading. "Please, tell me where you are. Let me help you... you're... you're all I have left."

He could almost hear the tear sliding down Nunnally's face. There wasn't anything he could do against her argument. Despite the many people who surrounded Nunnally and who she loved and was loved by, there was the only who held the same connection to her beloved brother. Not even Allistair was enough to fill the void Lelouch had left in both of them.

"I'm sorry, Nunnally," he said honestly, his voice cracking as the left of his strength seemed to leave him. "I'm in a warehouse by the water. Pier 55."

"I'm sending Kallen," came Nunnally's relieved reply. "Don't worry, Suzaku, we'll get this all sorted out."

**--RE;--**

He was being hunted like a wild animal. Is that what the people thought of him? After the years he'd served them, nameless, faceless, was it only now that he'd truly be reduced to nothing but zero?

Would it really be him who tarnished the beloved name? The one who shattered Lelouch's dream for a better world? What was going to happen now? Was Nunnally's prayer enough to stop a world from sliding into chaos? Would she be able to save him? Or would he drag her down into an abyss as deep as that pit of hatred where Lelouch had been buried?

It took him a moment to realize there were tears flowing down his face. He had promised Lelouch he would look after Nunnally.

He hoped Kallen would get there soon. It was unlikely that the warehouse would remain unsearched for long and he couldn't afford to stop moving for too long.

A high fan moved ponderously, cutting and reforming the coming dawn into pieces like a kaleidoscope. He shivered once against the cold air, his body temperature finally recovering from his flight. He felt so tired, now that he wasn't moving. It would be so easy to take a short nap—Kallen knew where he was, and she would wake him up.

But since sleeping could mean death if someone else found him first, his unconscious could not allow it. His eyes would become red-rimmed from something other than sleep and he didn't know where he would find himself.

He sat on a cold box, the warmth of his backside immediately seeping away into the container, leeching away his vitality. He should have just asked Jeremiah to return himself to normal. If it hadn't been for some irrational belief that it was Lelouch's wish for him, he would have. But the dead Emperor's spirit still haunted him, and he had refused to let it fade completely. Perhaps it was a part of his punishment, but then, Lelouch had never spelled it out like he had when telling him to be Zero. It felt more like a parting gift, a symbol of what Lelouch had wanted, something that the dark haired Britannian couldn't have and so entrusted it to his closest friend instead. That gift was something the friend couldn't part from now, simply because it meant too much.

It had come from Lelouch's pure desire for him to live.

A creaking shudder echoed across the warehouse and he threw himself quickly behind the crate. A sliver of light now spread across the concrete floor, etching its way across the ground and reflecting a silhouette in the doorway.

Kallen?

He couldn't get a clear view, but it was definitely a feminine figure and there wasn't anyone else around. She was alone. He breathed a sigh of relief; the torturous game of hide and seek was finally over.

"Kallen," he called, stepping out from behind the crate.

The woman turned, and he realized he'd made a fatal mistake. But for once, his Geass didn't engage. The gun in Villetta's hand was already pointing, already firing, the bullet already lodging between his ribs. Green eyes wide, his body hiccuped and felt too still. The ground was rushing towards him.

It seemed that there was no way to avoid this death. For him to live on meant there had to be a way to escape Death's reaching grasp.

And if there wasn't?

The pavement beneath him felt distant, even though he knew it should be cold. He wasn't wearing the mask, after all. Heaviness engulfed him, made his eyelids close, and he was just... so... tired....

Death felt gentle, a slow sinking into oblivion. His last breath was of relief.

Maybe now... he could...

...Lelouch...

...himself...

...forgive....

The justice Suzaku Kururugi had strived to serve had been erased. All that would be left was his lie, immortalized in history. Zero Requiem and the truth was dead.

**--RE;--**

The agony Lelouch felt reassured him that he was truly alive. But it did nothing to reassure him of whether Suzaku still lived. Had the world truly rejected Zero completely? The worst was that he could never _know_. It ate at him, the knowledge that all things ended or died—except Lelouch.

And Suzaku? Even if he wasn't already dead, he _would_ die. And Lelouch would remain alone, shrouded in darkness. Forever. The irony alone should have killed him by now if it had been possible.

"_Live on!"_

He watched the world with eyes closed.

**--RE;--**

_"What it seems it is, and in such seeming all things are."_

_~Wallace Stevens_

**--RE;--**

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**_Review. You know you want to._

_And blarg. I wanted Suzaku's final words to stretch across the screen, but has only left and center alignment. So, if you want, imagine the word "Lelouch" to be left-aligned, "himself" is center-aligned, and "forgive" is right-aligned. *grumblemumble*  
_


End file.
